


Blue Hydrangeas

by feyreofthewildfire



Series: Vibrant Bouquets AU [1]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M, cassian works in elain's flowershop, cassian's ex-military, cause tropes, down the trash chute once again, i think you can figure out why, if you catch that, my bad - Freeform, my hand slipped, my modern hc is that he was in the air force, nesta owns a tattoo shop, oops i meant to say rabbit hole
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2019-02-05 00:20:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12782811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feyreofthewildfire/pseuds/feyreofthewildfire
Summary: She opens her mouth to demand who he is, why he’s there, and where Elain is, only to instead notice the bouquet he’s putting together.It’s surprisingly… perfect. At least, for someone who seems as though he’d crush most of the delicate petals. It’s a medley of white roses and lilies, blue hydrangeas amidst beautiful Italian ruscus. It’s something she’d buy for herself.-Nesta doesn't know what to make of Elain's newest employee





	Blue Hydrangeas

**Author's Note:**

> down the trash chute once again...  
> on this episode of "things jade word vomited in an hour," we have an iteration of the classic florist/tattooist trope which i love so dearly.  
> please enjoy!! if this gets a good response i might continue it. for now, it stands as a one shot

The buzz of the gun is a familiar, soothing sound.

All of Nesta’s worries fade away quickly enough, the concentration required to permanently embed ink into someone’s skin pulling her from the troubles of everyday life. Her very being focusing down to lines and dots and, occasionally, colors and shading. 

More often than not she doles out little bandwagon tattoos—flowers on sides of fingers, teardrops under cuticles,  small phrases in indecipherable cursive, tiny drawings on inner wrists, and so much more. It’s rare that a unique, truly personal tattoo comes her way these days. 

“Done,” she murmurs, wiping away the excess ink and sanitizing her gun. Today’s millennial lifts her arm, staring in overemphasized wonderment at the miniscule heart on the side of her middle finger. Finger tattoos are always a pain, literally for the client and logistically for her. Clients often get twitchy, and she had to awkwardly pull their fingers apart. 

“It’s beautiful, thank you.” The brunette girl grins, surprisingly humble from what Nesta’s used to. She bandages the girl’s tattoo and gives her instructions on taking care of it, spewing out words she’s said hundreds if not thousands of times. Still, she doesn’t want to be liable if the girl loses her finger from an infection like an idiot. She doesn’t think she will, quite honestly, but one can never be too sure.

Soon enough the girl leaves and Nesta’s left alone with her thoughts and sketchbook. By no means is she a painter like her sister, but a pad and pencil were always easier to get ahold of then acrylic paints, especially when she was in school. It’s rare that she sketches anything other than little tattoo designs or mock henna, but it calms her nonetheless. She supposes it could be cataloged as doodling.

With a glance at her computer, she’s relieved to learn that she doesn’t have another appointment for the next two hours. It’s enough time to go a block or two down and see Elain, ask her if she wants to get lunch. There’s no reason that Az should be working there today instead of her sister. 

It takes her a few moments to shut everything down and flip the lights—much longer than it should’ve. She, admittedly, hadn’t gotten much sleep last night. The sobbing child two apartments over combined with the lady upstairs who liked to clean at 2 AM had successfully kept her up until she’d given up and gone back to drafting client responses and some sketches. 

Wherever she and Elain go for lunch, they better have coffee. Copious amounts of coffee. The thought instantly narrows down the choices to one.

Her hair nearly gives her a headache, with the tight ballerina bun it’s pulled into. But the windiness of the day makes it worth it. There’s no way she’d manage to get through this wind with the normal way she curled it, most certainly not with how long she’d allowed it to get. The thickness of her peacoat, or lack thereof, doesn’t help much with the chill, but it does enough.

By the time she makes it to Elain’s flower shop it’s been ten minutes, given her leisurely pace. The bells in the shape of a snapdragon twinkle as she pushes open the door, the heat of the store rushing out towards her and washing over her in a blanket of warmth. A little, thankful sigh escapes her as she quickly shuts the door behind her. 

Her kitten heels click against the linoleum floor as she breezes past the displays and to the back, where both the register and her sister should be. 

Surprisingly, it’s not.

Nesta can’t see their face since it’s tilted down towards the bouquet they’re putting together. She can see that their hair is pulled back into a small bun at the back of their head, face-framing pieces falling out. The broadness of her shoulders tells her they’re male, but it’s obviously not Azriel. Even though she’d only met the quiet man less than a dozen times, his hair was shorter and his shoulders nowhere near that broad. 

She opens her mouth to demand who he is, why he’s there, and where Elain is, only to instead notice the bouquet he’s putting together. 

It’s surprisingly… perfect. At least, for someone who seems as though he’d crush most of the delicate petals. It’s a medley of white roses and lilies, blue hydrangeas amidst beautiful Italian ruscus. It’s something she’d buy for herself. 

As she draws nearer his head pops up, finally taking note of her appearance. He blinks twice, “You must be Nesta.”

She just stares at him, unwilling to confirm or deny. 

An annoying little smile appears in the upturn of his lips, “Oh, you’re definitely Nesta.”

“Who told you that?” She snips, eyes narrowed.

“Az,” he shrugs. “ He told me about Elain’s sister that comes in once a week or so. And you’re not Feyre. You’re too… immaculate.”

The way he says the word is almost condescending, enough so that she opens her mouth to shoot back in insult, prepared to tear this man to pieces. 

Footsteps begin to sound from the staircase that connects to the rooftop, where Elain grows most if not all of the flowers sold in her shop. It’s sometimes that offsets her from her competition, and it keeps her plenty busy. Nesta can’t remember the last time she’s seen her sister outside of stealing her for her lunch hour, although that might have more to do with Azriel than the rooftop garden. 

Today’s flowers are baby’s breath and wax flowers, nestled in between the strands of the braid wrapped around Elain’s head. Nothing unusual, unlike the day she’d boldly worn one of the tropical hibiscus flowers she’d had imported. 

Elain smiles brightly, wiping her dirty hands on the jeans she’s wearing and looking between the two. “Nesta, I see you’ve met Cassian. He’s an old friend of Azriel’s who’s surprisingly good at arranging.” 

Nothing about  _ why _ he was there, of course. Nesta knew better than to expect such details from her sister. She has to ask herself, then. “Why work for my sister?”

“I needed a change in routine.” He answers simply, going back to fiddling with the blue bouquet. 

It’s a completely vague answer, one that doesn’t explain the scars—both small and large— she’s noticed littered across his arms. The short sleeve shirt he’s wearing doesn’t exactly hide them, nor the small bits of black ink that peek out when the fabric shifts with his movements. Her mind runs wild with ideas of what it could possibly be. She doubts it’s anything trivial, as he doesn’t seem the type, and based on the width of the lines she can guess that it at least covers the entirety of his deltoid. 

Then she has to remind herself that it’s none of her business.

She slides her eyes over to Elain, who’s stood there silently for their little interaction. “Would you like to go to lunch? I figured we could go visit Feyre at Velaris.”

Elain’s eyes light up with the suggestion. She turns to look at Cassian, “Could you manage for an hour or so? 

He quirks an eyebrow, “I spent two years of my life leading a spec ops team, Elain. I think I can manage.” It would’ve been borderline condescending if not for the amused look planted on his face. Nesta catalogs the new piece of information with interest. Military service would explain the scars.

Elain’s cheeks turn pink, “Ah, of course. Try not to prick yourself on anymore rose thorns.” She quips, obviously referencing some sort of event Nesta wasn’t there to witness.

“I barely even bled! Besides, I didn’t realize that you liked to leave them on.” Cassian grins, stopping his fiddling for the first time. Nesta wouldn’t have thought him the fidgety type.

“See you in a bit,” Elain calls, exiting the shop with a bemused expression, Nesta following closely behind.

Even as they sit in Velaris, sipping their coffees and talking with Feyre, she keeps wandering back to a pair of hazel eyes. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> come scream at me on tumblr @feyreofthewildfire  
> kudos and comments give me the motivation to get through the piles of homework and write! warning: i tend to word vomit in my responses  
> have a lovely, lovely day!


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